There is not a single heart but has its moments of longing.
A man without a vote is in this land like a man without a hand.
That endless book, the newspaper, is our national glory.
Truths are first clouds; then rain, then harvest and food.
An oyster, that marvel of delicacy, that concentration of sapid excellence, that mouthful bwefore all other mouthfuls, who first had faith to believe it, and courage to execute? The exterior is not persuasive.
I think half the troubles for which men go slouching in prayer to God are caused by their intolerable pride. Many of our cares are but a morbid way of looking at our privileges. We let our blessings get mouldy, and then call them curses.